


Cold Hands, Warm Heart

by AwkwardBlueFish



Category: Batfamily - Fandom, DC - Fandom, Red Robin - Fandom
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Swearing, This was gonna be a short one shot but it got out of control, Tim isn’t exactly human, maybe :3, tim drake centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:01:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25352881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwkwardBlueFish/pseuds/AwkwardBlueFish
Summary: Tim was different. He didn’t know how or why but he knew it the moment he was alive. Over the years the nagging feeling fades but as crooks and common thief’s suddenly start fighting back with dangerous tech it leads him home. His old home.A secret his parents tried to keep from their son is revealed. Can the others pick up the pieces and keep their brother in one piece?
Relationships: Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Duke Thomas & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Janet Drake & Jack Drake
Comments: 123
Kudos: 328





	1. A Different Kind Of Childhood

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a little Drabble. It didn’t stay that way :3

Tim wasn't right, he knew that from a young age. He could sense it through his fathers scared eyes and his mother's shake of her head and disappointed sigh. There was something wrong with him and he just didn't know what.

He was always the cause of their arguments. Always. His father had tried to take him to play catch once upon a time and Tim had agreed instantly. He had never played catch before, he hadn’t even known what it was until his father demonstrated it to him. Jack said all kids played it and Tim asked why he hadn’t as he copied his fathers movements. Mother had found them then. She wasn't happy. She gazed at Tim as she answered but Tim didn't think she was talking to him, not really. ’You are delicate Timothy,’ she had said. ‘Special and cannot be replaced.’ Mother had taken his cold hand in hers and dragged him away.

That wasn't the only unusual thing about him however.He was seven and incredibly smart but he was also so oblivious. Tim was good at academics but he didn't know much else, hell he didn't even remember much else.

One night mother was in her study room. Tim wasn’t allowed in there and his father pretended it didn't exist. That night his father had taken his small hand and together they had wandered onto the back porch and to a small cement trail surrounded by flowers and garden. There was a thin, oval shaped board with four wheels underneath. Tim was smart, he knew his times tables and Shakespeare but for the life of him he couldn't figure out what that was.

”It's a skateboard Tim,” his father had said, sad smile on his lips. “And I'm going to teach you how to ride it.”

Tim wanted to, he really did but he knew mother would be furious. Ever since the catch incident mother had told him to never do something like that again. He had tried to argue, to disagree when blood red nails had dragged right through the middle of his scalp. All the fight had left him in that moment as mother whispered how special he was, how he was un-replaceable. He was told to never do something that could cause him potential harm like that again. Tim had agreed, not wanted to but he felt like he had no choice. He had no control.

“But mother-“ He tried but his father cut him off by placing large but warm hands on his small shoulders. That size difference was almost laughable really. 

“Your mother seems to forget you are a child, ironic since she made you. You’re a kid Tim, you're my...” His father trailed off, looking conflicted before shaking his head and gazing at Tim with a burning fire blazing in his eyes. “You are my son and I will be there for you.”

Something in Tim's brain sparks and flaresas large unnatural blue eyes stare up at his father. This was the first time Jack had ever called him his son and he meant it, he truly meant it. Whatever control his mother had was cut like clippers to a wire and Tim felt warm. They promised to keep this their little secret. 

Tim‘s a fast learner. All he had to do was watch his father demonstrate the basics and he had for theory down pact. His mind wonders though, he couldn't help but think how fragile his father looked. He was so... breakable. 

That terrified Tim. 

No, that was silly. Tim was the fragile one, that's what mother always said. And mother was always right, Tim knows that. He can't remember why or how he knows that but he just does. 

His father skates up to him huffing and puffing and rather sweaty from the short skate. Despite all that he was smiling, teeth glittering under the porch light. His father steps down from the skateboard, laughing and shaking his head. He was having fun Tim realises. Transfixed eyes stared up at the older man as his father pushes the skateboard towards him with his toe. 

“Your turn kiddo,” he says and slowly Tim nods, letting the larger hand engulf his smaller one. Carefully and with help Tim gets two feet securely on the board and warily looks up at his father. 

Jack just chuckles and places his palms on Tim's hips, gently and slowly pushing Tim forward. Quickly he latches onto those fingers as the board wobbles, bumping as it goes over a stone and stares wide eyed as they make their way down the cement path. 

He relaxes slowly, letting go of his father's fingers as the ride smoothing out, his father dodging anymore stones. Carefully he lifts his arms up and lets smile cover his lips as he stays upright. It was nice, he liked it and now he truly knew that his father was really there for him no matter what. 

“How do you like it kiddo,” Tim turns his head, meets his fathers gaze and smiles. 

“It’s fun,” he admits, eyes bright and excited. His father smiles softly and turns him around, pushing him down the path once again. 

That secret stays theirs and theirs alone, even when mother shakes her head at them fondly from a window a year later.


	2. Feverish Skin

Tim is eight when he gets his first fever. Everything is hot and warm and skin feels like it's melting right off of his bones. Everything hurts and Tim can't remember ever hurting like this, he can't remember hurting at all.

Everything is loud and blurry and Tim thinks he is crying. Mother and father are arguing and Tim wants them to stop. They’re being mean, yelling and belittling each other. 

“Mummy, daddy.” He whimpers, voice cracking as he calls out. The voices quieten and the bed tips. Tim lets out a whine, squeezing his eyes tightly shut at the movement. Everything hurts, so much. Is this what dying feels like.

A hand brushes through his sweaty bangs and pushes them away as Tim wines, chasing after the feeling the best he can. It leaves eventually, resting on his forward and Tim whimpers, eyes flickering open before closing once again at the harsh light of his room.

“Please Janet. Help him! We can't lose him, not again.”

“Okay.”

A while later Tim wakes up to an unusual sight. Father is asleep on the beanbag besides his bed. Mother is combing a hand through his hair, twisting it gently between her fingers.

“Mother?”

The hand brushing through his hair stops and Tim whines, flushing at the childish sound. A chuckle vibrates in his mother throat, a laugh escaping into the world before she scratches the hair on the back of his neck gently.

”Good morning my dear. You appear to be much healthier now.” Janet hums against Tim’s locks and he bobs his head in agreement, shuffling under the sheets to lean against his mother more comfortably. “Very good my beautiful creation. Since you are awake, I guess it's time for your present now.”

Tim sits forward as his mother leans over the side of his bed, gently grasping a plain box in her smooth palms. She easily shuffles back under the covers, places the box on the fluffy covers between her legs and guides his head to rest against her shoulder. He smiles and cuddles into his mother’s side.

“Can we open it?” Tim asks, trying to reign in his excitement. Janet hums and it vibrates in his ears and his heart. They've gotten somewhat closer over the years but cuddling with mother was extremely rare so he was going to relish in it for now.

“Well we were going to wait for you to wake up, but it seems your father has fallen asleep.” As if knowing someone was talking about him his father let out a huge snore, his hand shooing away an invisible fly that only he could see.

A giggle escaped Tim’s lipids him sleep as mothers nose wrinkles in disgust. Janet glances down at her miracle boy and allows a small but genuine smile pull at her lips. Timothy was a miracle. Her miracle.

“Timothy,” she calls out and the little boy glances up at her. He was different now but her icy heart couldn't help but love him. “I apologise for being so cold, you are my son and I care for you. I couldn't bear to see you being hurt however you are a child and accidents happen. So me and your father eventually came to a truce.”

“Mother?” Tim asks, beautiful un-natural eyes piercing her soul.

“Open the box my miracle.” His mother answers.

Tim did just that. Inside lays a beautiful camera and her sweet boys eyes shown brightly. He loved it, just like he would've. Janet presses a kiss to his locks, watching as Tim took a photo of his snoring father.

This could work. If they keep him away from their little secret. Maybe everything will be okay in the end. Janet didn't believe in miracles but now she can't help but have a twinge of hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh so curious. Any guesses of what Tim is??


	3. Haunted Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The mystery gets deeper! :3

Tim has his first flashback a year later, just as Robin does a quadruple flip with his familiar cackling laugh. He's mind shudders along with his camera as chatter reaches his ears and colour blinds his vision.

He’s at a circus, watching a much younger Tim cling onto his mother's head. Despite his mother always telling him, Tim has never seen himself as fragile but as he watches his younger self take a colourful boys hand, well, that's all he can think. 

As his family takes a photo with these people - the Flying Grayson’s his mind supplies - before chatting with them. Young Tim clutches the photograph in his hands, staring up at the boy with the shining blue eyes. The boy, Dick Grayson, grins while ruffling his hair and promises to do a special move. His parents laugh at Tim's starstruck expression and drags his distracted self to the tent.

He's in the tent now. He hasn’t a clue asto what happened between that period but the chatter had converged into screams and crying. Heart hammering, Tim looks for his family, begging hey we’re okay.

His spots his father first. He’s at the opening of a tent, talking on the phone. Occasionally he looks back into the tent before whirling around as if he was going to be sick. Confused and scared Tim searches the decreasing crowd for his mother and his younger self. He spots them between the running crowd.

Mother is crying. She's curling her body around his younger self, trying to shield him. It clearly hasn’t worked as Tim’s un-natural blue eyes connect with his younger selfs terrified, teary one.

He whirls around, heart hammering in his chest and pumping blood to his ears. That blood runs cold and his body locks like his bones were just gears. There's so much blood. Tears burn at the corner of his eyes and he finds himself crying with the past as the colourful boy screams for his parents. They were so fragile.

His thrown back to reality, and he cries as he scales down the fire escape ladder. His arm catches on a stray wire but he keeps going, yelping as it draws pack, pulling at the skin. Heart beating wildly as tears spill down his cheeks he runs back home, throat burning with the force of his cries leaving his lips.

He stumbles home, dropping his camera onto the carpeted floor. Father jumps as he sprints into the lounge and drops the newspaper just in time to catch a crying boy. Tim is too busy sobbing and clutching at his father's shirt to see his father's face morph into one of terror when he spots for blood dripping down his arm.

“Janet!” He screams, scrambling to pull Tim into his arms more securely.

Heels hurriedly click against wooden floor as Tim's face is pushed against his fathers neck. He's being rocked, back-and-forth as soft whispers are murmured in his ear, hands brushing through his hair. The clicking stops as Janet steps onto the carpet. “What happened?”

“I don't know. He ran in here, crying.” Jack answers, running a hand soothingly down his sons back. 

“Another fever?” Janet asks, striding across the room quickly. In a rush she adjusts her skirt, kneeling down and pressing the back of her hand against the boys forehead. It was stone cold. Just like it was supposed to be. “He's freezing.”

Jack's had snaps up, eyelids peeling right back to reveal shocked and wide eyes. “Does that mean..?”

Janet nods her head, just as bewildered. Her heart freezers as her eyes trail down to the bloody scratch etched into her sons skin. “Did he see it?” She asks, urgent. Jack shakes his head and Janet let's her posture sag in relief. With a sigh shereaches up, raking her hand against Timothy's scalp. “Time to rest now, Timothy.”

The boy falls asleep instantly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the chapters are rather short! At first this story was going to be just a drabble but that changed very quickly hehe


	4. A Case?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mystery begins!

“Tim?” Tim blinks at the voice, looking up from the many pictures strewn across his bedsheets. Bruce leans against his bedroom doorway, a file held loosely in his hand.

“A case?” Tim asks, clasping his hands behind his back and stretching. A satisfying crack fills the room and Tim let's out a please sigh as Bruce cringes away.

His adopted father coughs, shaking his head before nodding the affirmative as Tim begins carefully placing the pictures back into its box. “Yes. A connection has been found with the recent technology that the criminals have gotten a hold of. It's coming from one source and it should be easy enough to figure out. You'll take Robin with you tonight as the JL needs me.”

Tim's eyes shutinvoluntarily and he forces the tightness in his shoulders to unwind. It seems like Dick’s meddling for brother bonding had finally annoyed Bruce enough to actually do something about it. It wasn't going to work. They've been on plenty of missions together but all Damian did was ignore his orders and get himself hurt. And it was always Tim's fault, no matter how many times he tried to the others. Apparently it was his fault the boy didn't listen, and he just needed to be patient.

“JL?”He asks, knowing he won’t get a straight answer as his thumb brushes the edge of a crinkled photo. Bruce grunts and Tim takes that as a yes as he places the photo in the box. He rubs his hands against his pants, attempting to warm them up before turning his attention to the matter at hand. “Why me? Oracle is more equipped for this job. It would be quicker to.”

His adoptive father looks flustered and that's never a word you place with a man who dressed up as a bat and fights crime in the middle of the night. “I - there is a connection you need to find for yourself.”

Tim stares at him flatly. “I hate secrets Bruce.”

Bruce sighs, scrubbing at his face tiredly with a nod. “I know but this is something you need to figure out for yourself.”

Tim uncrosses his legs, shuffling off the bed while dodging photographs and meets Bruce at the doorway. “I don't like it. This was your case.”

“I know,” Bruce meets his gaze before shaking his head. “There's a chance that information I gathered could be wrong.” Tim would believe him if the man actually attempted to meet his eyes as he hands the file over. 

Tim watches his retreating figure. He hates secrets but the one thing he hates more is liars. He loathes them. He's been lied to far too many times in his life already. 

“Bullshit.” He says to the empty hallway before closing the bedroom door quietly. Tim was obviously not worthy enough to be told the truth. He blinks and shakes his head, putting a stop to those thoughts before heading back to his bed.

Grunting he situated himself back onto the covers and begins placing the last of the photographs into the box. The clock on the nightstand shines the numbers of05:03 pm. Good, that’s plenty of time to read up on a file and get demon spawn ready.

Flipping the file open reveals the basic information of the case. It gives the rundown of common thieves and robbers suddenly having new and advanced tech with the same design, technology and design. All of them had the same logo;

DI-PW. Bruce believes it could be a signature and Tim couldn't agree more. For some reason crooks liked to have a thing so people recognised their work. At least it made it easier for them to track them down.

Flipping to the next page has his limbs locking into place as he processes the information. Last night Bruce had managed to scare an answer from a common thief called John Louise while on patrol. 

The dealers name was apparently Philip Williams. A couple of weeks after Tim's first wound - the first one he could remember at least - his mother and father had been ranting about a Philip Williams. They called him a thief, a liar and said none of his works were of his own design.

Tim throws the file aside, scrambling forward to the box resting innocently on his bed. He throws the lid of the box off, cursing as the edge of a lid catches on the boxes side and sends it tumbling to the floor, photographs on the carpet.

“Dammit!” He curses, sliding off the bed and slamming his knees on carpeted floor.

In a frenzy he shuffles through the pictures, eyes scanning and analysing before his fingertips brush the picture. He knows he has it. He remembers begging his nanny at the time take it so when his parents got back from the dig and to the company they could surprise them.

Soon enough his eyes catch on a pristine white building with three covered figures holding a bone of some creature. Without a second though Tim snatches it out of the pile. “Gotcha,” he mumbles. It's a photo of his parents and him.

His younger self was holding the bone of a creature while his parents smiled warmly and tiredly at the camera. That wasn't what Tim was looking for, no, it was the Drake Industries logo shining just above the companies entrance door. It was there and matches perfectly with the signatures carved into the tech. 

This revelation only led to more questions. What had his parents company to do with the case? 

Tim was going to find out.

A hour later and Tim has all the information he needs. Philip Williams name was everywhere, his scam from five years pack still fresh on the news. Apparently the media was shocked for William's notorious stealing of designs and was scandalised on how he got away with it. It was also fresh news as the media knew of his scam against the Rim’s parents.

A sigh echoes the hallways as he reaches Damian’s room. He raps on the door and his knuckle spike with needle like pain at the action. Punching criminals in the face may be satisfying and a easily knock out method but it sure didn't help the healing process for his hands.

The door handle twists as Tim flips through the file. “Are you ready–?” He cuts himself off and blinks. Damian was all dressed up besides the mask that covers his eyes from the world with a proud and self satisfied smirk dressed on his lips. “Hasn’t Alfred told you not to change in the- oh whatever. Look at the file while I get changed and then we're leaving.”

The boy merely scowls down at the file when Tim passes it to him. The main thing Tim was currently trying to teach him, and was somewhat successful at, was researching background information and to not just punch every person whose name is listed in the file. The president did not appreciate that incident and it seems that Damian may be learning from that.

“Fine, but I‘m driving.” Damon calls after Tim as he descends the hallway. 

A laugh escapes his lips and echoes through the hallway. “We’re swinging.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo and ideas have been changed? Any new theories?? I wonder what Bruce is hiding...
> 
> Also on a completely different not I have to do a survey for school so feel free to take this if you want! Only a 10 question thing - https://surveyhero.com/c/a2439808


	5. A Furious Rage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So any ideas, any refined ideas?

“A vehicle would be faster and much more efficient than this,” Robin grumbles, grabble launching and latching onto a gargoyle nearby.

“Faster, yes.” Red Robin agrees, a grunt leaving his lips as his feet connect onto the next roof. “But the vehicles are loud despite the mufflers Fox had engineered into them. Yes, they scare our targets but it's also a huge warning for them that we are coming. This gives them a chance to escape and clear up any evidence.”

He couldn't see Robin's face but he knew the kid was excited at that bit of information. “The element of surprise.”

“Yes,” Red hums through the comms. “We’re two blocks away from Williams apartment. Relay the information to me.”

Red can feel Robin’s annoyance as his signature tut is muttered into his ears. He can’t help the smirk twisting at his mouth as they close in on their destination and, more importantly, their target. 

“Philip Williams, 56-year-old male. I thief who copyrights numerous designs and sells them to well-known companies for cash. Lives in an apartment complex, 10 stories up and room 50. Currently no legal paying job.” Robin drawls and Red Robin nods his approval. He was getting better at that, although he does need to learn to relay street names in case anyone new joins them without any background information.

“Good. Now-“

“You know Drake, my father would never hire someone like Williams. It seems your parents are just as incompetent as you.” Robin taunts and Red forces himself not to snap at the boy, teeth clenching his cheek and drawing blood at the effort. 

“No names on the field.” He replies coldly, launching himself onto the building besides Williams apartment complex. They were on a case and Tim needs a clean head to do his job. No distractions.

Robin says nothing as he lands besides Red Robins crouched figure. He was satisfied with himself and Red internally curses himself for letting the brat get under his skin and push at his buttons. He was annoying yes, but such little comments from him shouldn't annoy him anymore. He should be used to this by now.

“What are you waiting for?” Robin hisses. Red hushes him as he counts the windows to 50, he had already counted to 20 stories high after all. He's on the top floor and his window is to the right side of the building he concludes, pulling out his binoculars from the belt wrapped securely around his waist. “We have an element of surprise; we can take him!”

“No, not yet. We don't know if he's alone,” Red snaps. He inhaled a calming breath, forcing it out his nose as he zeros in on the window with his binoculars.

The window was open and the blue sheet covering it was clear, making it easier to see into the apartment building. A figure dashes across, creating a silhouette. His eyes narrow involuntarily as another figure behind the sheet stalks across. A shadow of a gun, a flash of red and he curses. “Dammit!”

A bang shatters the silent night as Red launches himself between the building, fingers catching onto the top ledge of window as he swings the rest of his body through. He barely makes it, his mind humbly tells him as his body slams against the back of a couch.

“Red! What the fuck-?!”

“Please tell me you didn't kill him!” Red Robin interrupts, springing to his feet quickly.

“What? No! I was just scaring the shit out of em.’ Worked to.” Red hood drawls, lazily cocking his gun at William. The man lets out a wet squeal, attempting to fit his tall frame in the corner of the room. Red lets out a relieved size, shoulders dropping.

“Hood!” A sharp and squeaky voice interrupts them and Red pinches the bride of his nose. Why him? Why is it always him?

Hoods artificial chuckle doesn’t help anyone as their little brother comes stomping up to him and poking his chest plate as hard as he could without snapping his finger. “Chill kid. You don't even reach my ribs, haven’t ya learnt to pick on people your own size yet?”

Red rolls his eyes as Robin bristles, face flushing as he stamps his boot in Somme form of retaliation. “You have no tact insulting me when you are interfering with my case!”

“Your case? Kid I'm only here because this shit,” he jabs a thumb at William who squeals like a pig, “is selling his tech to the big guys. Do you know how dangerous that shit is?” 

Red Robin quickly covers Robins mouth, pulling the boy to his side. “Good. That's why we’re here,” he interrupts and Hood nods. “We can work on this case together.” He eyes the furious boy tucked into his side before releasing him, slightly amused as Robin dashes away as if he’s been burnt by the contact.

Hood, the annoying shit, simply nods. He meets Robins furious gaze and Red could basically see the smirk forming under the Hood hiding his features. “Only because I like annoying this little brat so much, so I guess I could work with you goody two shoes for a night.”

“Batman gave me this case!” Robin growls out and Red gives him a flat look as Hood lets out a snort.

“Does it look like I care?” He responds, tone sarcastic and laced with amusement despite the voice box.

“Batman?!”William squeals, snot starting to run down his lips and dribble down his chin. Red faces him and his two idiotic brothers finally start to be act like professionals.

“Yes, Batman.” Red Robin replies coldly. The main flinches back as lets a whimper escape his trembling lips. “You got lucky. He’s currently busy at the moment but I'm sure he won't be too long. So I'd suggest you start talking.”

“If you don't, I can always put a bullet in your head. Right between your eyes would be the perfect spot for it I reckon.’” Hood sings, making a show of clicking on the safety and clicking it off again. Showing everyone that he was armed and he wouldn’t hesitate to fire.

William swings his head widely between the two, shaking like an autumn leaf in a storm. In some sort of last-ditch effort, he reaches for the lamp on the coffee table besides him, crying out as a stray batarang sinks into the flesh of his arm at the movement. Robin glowers at him, another batarang already in hand as Hood aims the gun at him, right between the eyes as promised.

“It would be easier for everyone if you just talked,” Red trails off, internally reminding himself to chat which about Robin about his interrogation methods. “Philip Williams.”

“Okay, okay! I'll talk!” William cries out, full on sobbing at this point, snot mixing in with salty tears. Red almost feel sorry for him. Almost. “Look I haven't done anything! It was Jack and Janet’s designs! I just borrowed them for a bit! It ain't my fault man, I just needed some cash y’know?”

”No, I don't.” Hood growls out, walking in front of Red Robin defensively. As if his frame could protect him from the words. It was a nice effort, he appreciated it. “Do you think using the dead as an excuse is gonna work? It’s like ya’ want a bullet in your head or something.”

Red doesn't like this. Hearing his parents name coming from the crooks mouth leaves a bad taste settling in his stomach. He takes breath, schools his features and places a gloved hand on Hoods shoulder. Red Hood tilts his head slightly, asking him if he if he was all good. Red Robin squeezes his shoulder in reassurance before letting it fall as he steps forward.

“The Drake’s where archaeologist. They had no participation with your crimes.” Red says, voice stone cold. Robin slides closer to his side and the gun gripped in Hoods hand has yet to waver. It was still pressed between the man's eyes, pushing the sweaty skin into his skull.

“No, no.” The man says hysterically. “They hired me! They have secrets, many. I don't know what though! They just wanted my designs I borrow from other companies and they promised me good pay for it too! They wanted human parts, robotic ones and I told em’ I could get it for em’. I think they were designing a machine to protect their son! I just want my pay.”

Robin snaps. He launches himself at the man, grabbing his shirt collar and slamming him against the wall, flakes falling from the painted wall and spiralling down at the impact. Red doesn't stop him, even as Robin growls like a pissed kitten. “That doesn't explain why you have the tech now and why you’re adding the Drake’s signature on them!”

“They ripped me off!” William spits, spluttering is Robin slams him against the wall once again and Hood digs the gun a little deeper into the man’s skin. “They took my designs! Found out I borrowed them and got me arrested! When the police asked where they were, they accused me of still having them. I didn't! They ruined my life so I’m returning the favour. They may be dead and it serves them right but the dead’s reputation can still be tarnished, with the bonus of ruining their son’s life! The only damn thing they ever seemed to give a shit about!”

That does it for Hood. He stalks forward and shoves Robin backwards to Red who catches him by the shoulders, mind running wild with confusion and rage. Robin can feel the nails digging into his shoulders but was too angry to really care about it. 

Damian may say shit about the Drake’s to piss off Timothy but in the end they were respectable people and his older brother's parents. So, he was mad and rightfully so.

“I'm getting real tired of this chitchat,” Hood whispers lowly, pulling back his gun before slamming the butt of it harshly into the man’s forehead, emitting a cry from Williams. “Now tell us where you got those designs from!”

“The Drake’s! I got them from the Drake’s mansion!” William cries out and Red Robin see nothing but fury, vision going down a tunnel knowingly but he couldn’t care less in that moment.

He laughs, low and angry as he lets go of Robin shoulders and stalks forward. Hood must see something on his face because he nods and steps back to the aside. Even Williams is smart enough to not look relieved.

“So, you’re telling me you've not only stolen people's work as plagiarism, trespassed on private property but you’ve also stolen from the Drake’s mansion? You're looking at about 50 years of jail time and one hell of a fine. I suggest you tell me the exact location of where you found those designs right now before I make life way harder for you.”

Hood bulks in the corner of his eye. “Red? You ain’t taking this cook serious are ya’?

Red Robin doesn't answer, he just slams Williams head into the wall. “Where did you find it?”

“It's on the first floor! It was one of the last two doors in a corridor-“ the study? The room?

William drops like a pile of rocks thrown into the river, a circular red mark from where he got hit by an escrima stick shining brightly on his forehead. Nightwing. All three swivel around, seeing the vigilante stuck awkwardly halfway through the window, arm still outstretched from throwing the projectile. 

“How did you find us?” Robin asks, instantly on the defensive. You could basically see Hoods eye roll and barley hear his mumble of paranoid bats and trackers as Nightwing climbs through the rest of the window with a grace that wasn’t fair.

“Oh, you know. I just followed the sounds of bickering younger brothers i extreme interrogation mode.” He says sarcastically. “Now, what's going on? We never use that much force on a single low-level crook.”

The sigh Hood lets out starts artificial before becoming softer and more tired sounding as he takes the helmet off.  
He looked tired. Stressed. “It got personal.”

“For who?” He instantly asks, looking over Robin with a sickening dad like worry that Jason mock barfs at, pulling faces and silently laughing at Robins misery.

“Stop!” Robin grumbles, wiggling out of concerned arms. “It's Drake you should be fussing over!”

“Wait...” Jason’s laughter trails off, noticing a lack of presents. “Where is he?” A motorbike roars in the silent night, birds squeaking at the disturbance.

“Shit!” Jason exclaims, saying nothing to the others as he pushes them aside, leaning the upper half of his body out the window. His motorbike was gone. “That sneaky little-“


	6. I'm Home...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim really should've known he wasn't normal. He's known his whole life and pushed it back only to lead to this. If he wasn't human, then, what was he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gore and blood ahead! Also a small scene where Tim hurts himself!!

Red’s mind was reeling. Something in his stomach was coiling like a snake around his insides and he felt nauseous. He was angry and confused and he wanted answers. No, he needed them.

In the distance the lights of the manor glow so he revs the engine and steps on the gas. The motorbike rolls right past Bruce’s manor and soars right to the Drake’s mansion. His old home. Sometimes it felt like his only home. And it infuriated him that someone would go into his home and steal his parent’s belongings. Who gave them the right?

Red steps on the brakes, kicking down the stand with the back of his heel. Easily he slides off the seat and grabs his staff securely latched onto his back.

Running, and with the help of his staff, he launches himself over the locked fence where he used to live, landing in a crouch in tangled overgrown weeds. In the dark his fingers find the flashlight tied to his waist, clenching a little too tightly around the handle

With a click of the button the light shines onto the overgrown garden. Dust and air particles twirl in the shine of the light as Red scans the area. It was home, just like when he was a kid. It was a little overgrown, that’s all. After today he was going to start taking better care of it. It was the least he could’ve done.

His boots crunch on stone and rotten leaves as he scans the area. He wanted to know how Williams got in here. With his physical abilities he soundly of been able to climb over the entrance and the stone borders around the place were tall and had no leverage to be able to climb. The only other option was digging.

Two meters away from the entrance was a hole, right under the stone borders. Dirt was splayed across the grass and a shovel glimmered from the other side of the stone wall. That explains how Williams got in then.

“I know how you got in,” Red Robin murmurs, moving his flashlight to his old home. “Now how did you get into my home?”

With each step he takes his boots crush against wet weeds and damp dirt. The footpath there once was covered in the overgrown weeds and was barely recognisable in the dark. How had he ever let his home become like this?

His thoughts swirl as he belittles himself, cursing his excuse of being too busy to take care of his old home. That was no excuse and he knows it. This home is under his name, under the courtesy of Bruce’s help. He was responsible for this place and look what he had done to it. Well, what he hadn’t done to it.

The wooden stairs freak as he climbs up them. The door was still closed securely but the window besides the double doors was smashed. That bastard.

Gut clenching, Red steps through the broken window. The mansion was dark and the covered sheets of the lounge room furniture looked ominous.

The carpet was dirt ridden and greasy under his boots as Red comes to a stop before his father’s armchair. He loved that cream coloured armchair. He was always sitting in it, reading the newspapers or working on his computer. He really did love it.

“I’m home,” Red tells the chair, gloved palm sliding under his mask and pushing it back. He didn’t dwell right being Red Robin when he was here. He was Tim, just Tim. Their son finally coming home.

He eyes the covered chair for a bit before shaking his head. He remembers the first time he got the scratch on his arm. I had been deep enough to scar. Everything changed after that. Mother wouldn’t berate him for being reckless, she would just tell him to be careful. Father seemed more relaxed after that day, as if knowing Tim would be alright. He still doesn’t get it.

For months it was just them before his parents started travelling. They’d take Tim sometimes but otherwise left him with his nanny. They loved him, called every chance they got and sent him postcards and photos. Tim doesn’t know what changed that day. He only had an idea now, that maybe they left him with his nanny because they’d knew he’d be safe.

Safe from what though?

His steps are silent along the carpet and he flinched as the wood creaks under his boot as he gets to the hallway. He glances down and a small laugh leaves his lips. “You never did get the chance to fix that board, did ya dad?”

The atmosphere is calming, until it isn’t. He’s walked past the spare bedrooms, the bathrooms, even the extra study room. There were two doors still closed, the study and his parents room. The rooms that Williams had gone in.

There’s a draft blowing at his hair as he clenches the door handle to his parents’ room. It felt like a warning, as silly as that thought it. The draft was coming from the broken window.

“Sorry Dad, Ma,” he whispers to the door, closing his eyes as if pained. With a creak of the door it opens to a cold room.

The room is cold. His parent’s possessions lay around the room, as if they were coming back. They weren’t. Tim hadn’t wanted to go into the room and he wouldn’t allow anyone else either. This room looks like the day his parents had left it.

It was clean, besides the cobwebs clinging against the corners of the room. It was dark too. The closet was shut closed, the bed made remarkably well. Everything was pristine and neat, besides the knocked over table and shattered flowerpot.

Tim makes his way over, dodging the broken vase and focusing on the documents lying on the floor. Williams has definitely been here.

He drops to his knees, hearing the glass crush under his boots and his knee pads. He rifled through them, searching. There was nothing! All it was about was the Drake Industries company but it had no such thing on anything Williams had said. Sighing through his nose, Tim makes his way to stand up, eyes catching onto golden frames glimmering on the side of the bedstands. They were photographs. Photographs of him.

A soft smile stretches on his lips as he walks over. The bed creaks under his weigh but he pays no mind to it, coughing as dust raises from the mattress. This place really did need a good long clean and Tim was more than willing to do it after this case was over.

“I don’t remember these,” he whispers, picking up the first one his hand connects with.

He brushes the dust off with his fingers and eyes the picture. It was him with his parents. They looked so happy, as his mother laughed as his father pushed a much younger Tim on the swing. There wasn’t a speckle of sadness in it.

Tim doesn’t remember it.

He doesn’t remember the one where a cast is wrapped around his leg, his mother drawing a picture on it as his, assumingly, father’s thumb covers the edge of the top part of the photo. He doesn’t remember the one where he’s standing beside a red shining bike, two missing front teeth as he grins widely at the camera. He looks around six there. There’s one with him in a ballet class. Tim’s parent never mentioned that he did ballet before, they always switch the channel if something like that comes on.

Stomach twisting Tim shakes his head and swallows, placing the picture down gently. This room was foreign, unknown to him. This room felt like a place he was never supposed to see.

The bed creaks once again as he gets off it as he goes to leave the room. Before he closes the door he eyes the broken vase and he swears he can see writing on it. He shakes his head and closes the door. It doesn’t matter, that’s not his priority. He has a mission and he needs to get answers.

The hallway doesn’t feel as welcoming as before. Its cold. This area feels dead with secrets, ones he feels like he shouldn’t uncover. He doesn’t have a choice now; it may be personal but this was still a mission. A useless mission, one that Bruce had already uncovered. But he wanted Tim to find something. Tim wouldn’t let him down, he’s done that far too much already.

His steps are silenced by the cockroach infested rug as he crosses the thin corridor. The door is made out of wood, splintering wood turning white. Everything here feels so old, looks so old. Has it really been this long?

Tim’s stomach turns and he shakes his head, mattered curls tickling his pale cheeks, as he mutters angrily at himself. Its just a door and Tim is no longer a child. He was no longer a child who avoided this room like the plague just because his mother said so and his father had done the same. This was a mission and Tim was seventeen years old, nearly eighteen. He was still young, yes, and technically still a child in the physical concept but Tim was no child. He was older than anyone would truly know.

“Sorry Ma,” he murmurs to the air particles, a breath leaving his cold lips as the door handle creaks under his palm. He may no longer be a child but it still felt wrong to disobey the unspoken rule of entering this particular room. So, for that he was sorry.

The cold air slams into his frame but Tim doesn’t flinch, instead his eyelids peel back in shock. This room was far too similar to the bunker! It was much smaller and rather cramped, and it remained an unspoken that they held different purposes. Although it felt… uncomfortably familiar, and not just it was similar to the bunker in a sense. It felt like he has been here before but that can’t be right…

It was a small room around 12’ by 19’. Two tables were pushed together in the far corner of the room, one along one wall and the other pressed against the desk and the wall next to it. There were computers knocked off the desk, hanging by a thin wire still somehow connected to the socket. A box was on the wheelie chair pushed away from the desks, papers sticking out of the box and littered across the floor. The shocking thing? The shocking thing was the medical table pushed across from the desk, medical tools knocked from the silver platter with a strange red substance dried to the metal.

Hesitantly he made his way into the room, taking it all in with a detachedness that was trained into him. He was numb but that made it better somehow. Stay detached and you can’t get hurt or be affected mentally. It something that has usually worked for Tim in the past. He just hopes it works this time.

Boots crush dust and dirt to the floor as gloves glaze against the desk. Twiddling a USB between his fingers Tim makes his way to the fallen computer. He bumps the chair back with bis hip, crouching low to search for a port that was still workable. The computer was still functional despite the odd position so it was simple to plug in the USB. He collects himself, breath disturbing the still air as he tuns into a circular motion. He just needed to breath for a second. Just a small second.

“Alright,” Tim murmurs as a red-light flashes in the darkness of the room. Without any fuss he pulls it out, plugging it into his gauntlet and letting the information download. A blue hue lights up the room next, the red dying out to nothing as a 3D screen flickers into view. The bar was low, it would take approximately five minutes to download the data. “That gives me enough time to search the room then.”

He swipes his other hand down in front of the screen and the blue fades out in a millisecond, the darkness returning and making Tim squint for a second. It doesn’t take long for his eyes to adjust as he makes his way to the fallen medical tools, leaving the box to investigate later.

The red substance Tim was foolishly hoping was just food dye was undoubtedly blood. He swallows, a thickness stuck in his throat as kneels, grapping the discarded scalpel from the wooden floor. With his other hand Tim fishes for a spare microscopic slide in his belt. Carefully he uses another one to push the dried-up blood onto the slide, nodding to himself when he gets a proportionable amount onto the small glass. Once he pockets it in a small container Tim stands up once again, shaking his head. “What have you been doing Mum?”

A chill rushes up his spine and Tim hunches in, gasping at the sudden cold breeze. What was that? Tim straightens himself, eyeing the room without moving his body. He was alone, there was no one in the room. Nothing was amiss and no one with a physical body would be able to hide. There were no vents to hide in, no cracks in the walls to slither into. The door was ajar, just as Tim left it. The only plausible possibility was that that was simply the breeze from the front door.

His gauntlet flashes twice, a barley there colour to alert him the download was completed. Good. Something to focus on.

“Let’s see what you’ve been doing,” Tim murmurs to the air. Shivering as another breeze circles around his shoulders, tickling his skin and raising goose bumps as he clicks into the download, blue hue lighting up his features.

The files were videos. Seeking answers and confusion rattling through his brain there’s no hesitation when he clicks onto the video. It flickers and the video is grainy but his mother is there clear as day. She’s crying, eyes red and puffy. Tim has never seen his mother look so broken and sad and that terrified him.

“I don’t- it was an accident. We looked away for just o-one second,” a hysterical laughs escapes trembling lips, eyes shining with soon to be shed tears. “He won’t wake up! He won’t ever wake up and it’s all our fault!” She cries, her words inaudible as her fists pound at her thighs and her face crumbles and scrunches up.

The video cuts abruptly and Tim swallows down the lump in his throat, tears stinging at his eyes. A shaky breath tumbles from his lips and melds into the air as the next video plays automatically.

It was his mother again. Her hair was in disarray, bangs dark under her eyes. Her glasses were tangled in her hair. She was so sad, so distraught that Tim closes his eyes for a second to regain posture. Her voice filters through his ears as he inhales shakily. “I can fix this. I can’t wake him but god I can fix this. Jack doesn’t know, I won’t- I can’t tell him. He’d be against it but if it gives the chance of our son being awake then why the hell wouldn’t I do it?” Unnatural blue eyes snap open and Tim stares right back at his mother’s transparent icy blue eyes shining with determination. “I’m going to fix this Timothy; I promise you that. I’m not letting you leave us, not over my dead body.”

His jaw loses its screws and he coughs, hiccupping as a tear slides down his cheek. What?

His mother continues in the next video and Tim stares, dumbfounded and confusion gripping at his mind.

“He won’t wake up from his coma. There’s no way, the doctors had said. They were foolish if they think that’s going to stop me,” his mother rants, swivelling in her chair and typing on different computers in a hurry. “Jack wants to pull the life support, the damn bastard! He says he doesn’t want Tim to suffer! He’s murdering my child by pulling that cord! I won’t let him. I’m not losing my son.”

She continues, as if she doesn’t know the shock she’s caused her son. “There’s this guy, I don’t know his name and I don’t want to know. But he says there’s a way to transplant the brain into another being. Memories, emotions, thoughts- everything! The brain may be dead but there’s a way to collect all his old thoughts and memories and convert it into a machine. If this works- and it will, then Timothy will be back to normal. He won’t have to be bed ridden with a dead brain ever again. He’d be alive, truly alive.”

His mouth closes, tenses under the pressure. He doesn’t know what’s happening, can’t comprehend the nonsense his mother his spewing. He’s alive! He’s always been alive! He must’ve woke up from that coma because he was right here!

The video fades and flickers, glitching on his screen. The videos glitches before shuttering to a frame. Tim’s blood runs cold, gazing at his mother standing above a body. His body. He appears to be six, but that can’t be him! Mothers hands are deep in his chest, metal ribs sticking out from an open torso. Gloves covered her hands, blood riding up her arms and near the shoulders. She had a heart in her hands!

Tim’s throat feels clogged and he’s pretty sure he’s going to puke as his gaze slides across the screen. His father was screaming at his mother, tears streaming down his cheeks but his mother didn’t seem to hear. Right next to them was a boys body, no older than four. The chest was cut open, organs still functioning in cold boxes. There was blood everywhere. His dads face was stained in blood as well as his hands, he was hugging the child in his arms and sobbing as his mother pulled the organs out of the boys’ body to put it in the androids.

The screen flashes and Tim’s knees crash to the floor, raising dust into the air and into his mouth and nose. That boy was him. There was no doubt about it. Those photos in his mothers room matched the boy on that steel table perfectly.

“What-?” Tim murmurs, heart hammering. He rips off his gloves, hand trailing to his cheek. Fingers push through something wet and Tim hiccups, staring blankly at the documents strewn across the floor as the light from his gauntlet flickers off.

The door creaks and he flinches, the tears overspilling and form shaking as he whirls around to face the intruders. He should be in defence; this could be one of Williams friends or maybe Williams could’ve escaped the others or maybe-

“Timmy?” a voice whispers, soft with shock and confusion. Nightwing. Dick.

He palms at his eyes, shaking his head with a gasp. Dick stands in the doorway, eyebrows drawn in as he gazes at the boy on the floor in a worry. Robin, Damian sneaks under his elder brother’s frame to see what made his brother freeze and stops short, blinking. Timothy looks wrecked. Hood comes in next, hip bumping into Nightwings’ side to get the man to move. He blinks, raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms.

Tim’s pretty sure Jason is scolding him but he can’t hear. Can’t hear Damians drawl of how he’s being pathetic, can’t hear Dick’s worry laced in his voice when he calls his name. Hell, he can’t even hear Jason’s scolding or his anger for stealing his motorbike.

He can’t hear because he has an idea. A stupid one, a really stupid one but it will confirm if what he saw was rue or not. Tim swallows down a lump in his throat (is it even a lump?) as he raises up on shaky legs. The white noise of chatter abates as Tim meets their gaze. Damian’s gaze more specifically.

Apparent the rule of no names in the field has been thrown out a window as Damian squints at him. Judging, always judging. “Drake?”

“give me your knife,” Tim says and Damian’s shoulder tenses ever so slightly. His tell-tale sign of getting ready for a fight.

“I don’t-“

“He doesn’t-“

“The one in your left boot, inner calf.” Tim says, taking a step forward. Damian snarls right back and Dick blinks slowly.

“Damian?” Dick asks, quiet and disappointed. Damian’s shoulders tighten up further before sagging, turning his face away with a scowl and crossed arms. “You know what Bruce said about lethal weapons on the field.”

“So what if I have a knife? Todd has guns!” Damian mutters and Dick sighs and Tim can see how Damian’s brow furrows, mouth twisting. He needs the knife. “A gun is just as deadly as a knife.”

“Damian-“ Dick starts.

“I need the knife,” Tim tells them and Damian growls, reaching inside his boot and throwing it at Tim in anger. The anger of being called out and getting caught or just because its him, Tim doesn’t know. It doesn’t matter. He got what he needs.

Tim catches it, the metal slicing his palm as his fingers grip the other side. The skin cuts like butter under the force of the throw but Tim doesn’t feel anything really at the moment. He can hear Jason curse and see Damian go rigid in the corner of his eye. Dick takes a step as Tim pulls the knife from his skin. The skin clings to the knife, clinging as he pulls it out. With a grunt he yanks it out, nodding to himself. He grips the handle in his good hand, pricking his wrist with the pointed end.

He digs it deep into his wrist and drags it. Jason curses and Dick shouts but Tim keeps pulling, watching the skin bunch up before being sliced through. Hands grip at his wrist but its too late. Vaguely Tim wonders how many layers he cut through but it doesn’t really matter. His fingers dig deep into the cut, sloshing in the blood and staining his fingertips and Tim pulls.

“Tim-!”

“Damn it, what are you doing?!”

“…Drake…?”

The skin drops to the floor. It makes a sound he couldn’t describe and Tim stares at it blankly. It wasn’t human. It wasn’t natural. It wasn’t right.

As if burned the hands gripping his arms are yanked away as a chuckle escapes his trembling lips. His head tilts, locks tickling at his eyes. No matter how much his vision was blocked by it, it couldn’t hide the bloodied metal fingers twitching in the air. He gazes at it for a second, his good hand reaching up to tug at the other attached ‘skin.’ Blood’s everywhere as he pulls it down a tad, pain not comprehending as he blinks at the metal inside his arm.

“She really did do it, “He murmurs, tears overspilling. His knees feel shaky and weak as his vision goes hazy. He falls and he falls hard. Despite the worried voices, the curses filling the air, he can’t help the laughs escaping his chapped lips - somehow stained with his own blood. “How could I be so stupid?”

“Shit! He’s losing a lot of blood!”

“Does that even matter?”

“Don’t get smart with me brat, its mattered in the past!”

“Shh Timmy. We’re right here. We’re going to get you all fixed up in a jiffy.”

His fathers face hovered above him, blue eyes bright with worry. Tim lets out an involuntary whimper, nodding his head. He didn’t want to die. Not again.

“Did he just say again-?”

“Shh everything will be oaky Timmy. You’re not going to die.”

“We need to get him to Alfred. B isn’t going to get here in ti-“

Tim closes his eyes, shuts out the noise and falls into the abyss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So whats up with this breeze? His mother maybe or maybe little Timmy?? Thoughts???


	7. Lies and Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His parents weren't the only one hiding a secret. And he isn't the only one rightfully angry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is so short!

A quiet groan fills the air and blatantly Tim realises its his as he forces his eyelids to peel back. They felt like soaked curtains, heavy and hard to move and he almost regrets moving them at all when invading light shines into his eyes. Were they really eyes? Or were they just advanced tech? Tim wasn’t sure if he really wanted to know or not.

He’s quick to assess the situation, you had to be in this type of life. There’s the tinkling sound of a waterfall echoing, screeches of bats and flapping of wings. He was at the bunker then. With a sigh Tim attempts to run his hand through his hair, key words, attempts.

Fear clutches at his stomach as his wrists meet with cold metal. He twitches them, attempts to raise them again. Straining himself he lifts his head, attempting to move his feet. His ankles connect with the same cool surface as his wrists and a slow curse escapes his lips. He was strapped down to the medical bed.

Shoulders sag and he lets his head thump against a stiff pillow. A sigh escapes his lips as he lays there. He doesn’t attempt to move. Someone would be coming for him now. He knows from experience and observation that Bruce’s and Alfred watch informs them one of them are awake after being critically injured. A part of him hopes its Alfred, he didn’t need to see the carefully guided look on Bruce’s face when he’s interrogated. But that fleeting hope disappears quicker than it came as a dim light brightens up the cave and heavy footsteps echo around the damp walls. Bruce then.

Fear and disappointment tinged with annoyance curdles in his stomach as he rolls his head to stare up at the roof. A chair scrapes across stone and Tim closes his eyes tightly, swallowing thickly as the chair groans under his adoptive fathers’ weight. I guess he isn’t going to be that much longer, is he? Tim muses grimly, exhaling through his nose, fingers twitching against a layer of pristine white sheets.

“That was a close call Tim.” Bruce murmurs, voice thick with weariness and exhaustion. Tim bops his heads, licks dry lips and forces himself to face his guardian. If Bruce sounded bad, well, he looked even worse. His back was hunched, fingers twitching in his lap as tired grey eyes met his. He looked horrible.

“I had to know,” Tim tells him before twitching and facing the ceiling instead of those burning grey blue eyes. He didn’t like the emotion shimmering behind them, especially when he himself couldn’t decipher them. “I- I didn’t do it in the best way. I know that. But it was the quickest way to find out. I had to know Bruce I had to.”

He exhales shakily, throat dry and scratchy. A warm warmth envelops his hand and wrist and Tim barley stops them from twitching away, realising at the last second he couldn’t even if he wanted to. He inhales, doing the breathing exercises that have helped him in the past and waits for Bruce to respond.

“I know. You always need to know the answers, don’t cha chum?” Tim’s right hand curls into the sheet and clenches the fabric tight. It was a fact everyone knew so why did he have to say it in that kind of tone? Why did he say it like he wished Tim didn’t? “Don’t do that again, okay? You gave everyone quite a scare.”

Tim nods against the pillow, cringing as locks tickle his cheek after being freed from the confines of his head and the pillow. Bruce chuckles lowly and its such an foreign sound that he blinks in surprise, staring dumbly at Bruce’s arm as his hand brushes through his hair, pulling the locks out of his face gently.

“Why?” Tim murmurs as the hand trails to cup at his cheek. “Why?” He asks again, seeing Bruce’s small frown and the furrow of his brow. “Why are you treating me like this?”

“Like what Timmy?” Bruce queries gently, as if he was afraid Tim was going to break. It didn’t sit right in Tim’s stomach and he shakes his head, pulling his head away from Bruce’s hand.

Tim nearly apologises at the look on Bruce’s face but it was as he said, Tim needed the answers. Tim needed to know Bruce was treating him like this when he should be locking him up or kicking him out of Gotham. Hell, Bruce should be experimenting on him! He did that with every other android!

“Why are you treating me like I’m a human?!” Tim didn’t mean to snap but the words bubble from his lips and snap in the air like a whip. He knew how this goes. But it wasn’t going like procedure and he was confused and scared and he just wanted something normal to happen!

He blinks back tears and turns his head away from Bruce’s absolutely crushed look, stomach twisting. He felt like he was going to puke. He knows he can puke but he doesn’t know how and it scares him because he doesn’t even know how his- this body works. His usual life has been turned on his axis and Tim doesn’t know how to deal with it.

”Tim look at me,” Bruce says and Tim shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut to avoid pretend the prickling sensation in his eyes didn’t exist. Warmth envelops both his cheeks and a thumb rubs small circles of comfort. The tears spill out and he clamps his mouth shut, refusing the sobs to escape from his trembling lips. “Son, look at me.”

Tim refuses, shaking his head as a hiccup forces his lips apart. A sob escapes and suddenly Tim can’t stop. He’s hiccupping and sobbing and his head is pounding with an oncoming headache and knifes are scraping against his throat. He’s crying and god, is it so pathetic that he can’t stop, that he can’t even keep the noise down at least a little.

He doesn’t even realise the restraints against his ankles and wrists are free, not until he’s being lifted up and cradled into a chest with sweet murmurs being muttered into his hair. A hand is rubbing his back and his face is forced into a neck and he hasn’t been in this position for so long that his heart stutters and jumps and a sharp cry leaves his mouth.

He’s being rocked back and forth and Tim doesn’t know how long it is until he calms down, slack in his adoptive fathers arms as he stares at the staircase descending to the bunker. The splashing of the waterfall is comforting in the near suffocating silence as Tim blinks, eyes feeling crusty and sore. No doubt they were just as red and puffy. God, he really is pathetic.

“You’re my son Tim,” Bruce whispers and god, did his voice just crack? “You’re my son. You are human. One of the most human people I’ve ever met. You care about others Tim, you cared about me. That’s why you became Robin right? Because you were worried I would go too far one day. You were so stubborn that day, knocking on our door but you stood your ground. You’re strong and you are human. You are a part of this family and I knew that even when seeing those metal bones in your body for the first time. If I didn’t, both you and me know you wouldn’t be here right now.”

Tim lets out a puff of air, reaching up and scrubbing at his eyes with a winch. Damn, they really were sore and definitely puffy. “I’m not human-“

His voice cuts off as Bruce continues to rub his back. Bruce has seen the mechanics under his-the skin? Bruce was at the station up in space when that scenario happened, so he couldn’t have seen it. He knows he cut himself badly, really badly. There wouldn’t of been enough time to debrief Bruce on what was really happening. But maybe the others told him after? Tim tries to tell himself its that but the thought doesn’t settle well in his stomach. The first time?

The next thing Tim knows is he’s shoving himself away from that warm embrace, feet slapping against freezing stone to get a distance between them both. He stares at Bruce, analyses his confused face and sees the realization struck him in the head like a sledgehammer.

“You knew, didn’t you…?” Tim whispers, stumbling back into the edge of the end of the bed as Bruce stands up, expression pained and slowly closing off. “That’s why you gave me this case in the first place! You said I needed to find something out on my own. You knew!”

His mouth opens before Bruce closes it and a sigh escapes his lips. His shoulders sag and Tim knows he’s right and his heart jumps and he just wants to collapse to the floor and cry but there’s no tears left to shed. He swallows thickly and shakes his head and maybe he rattled something when he did because the rage of being lied o is curdling in his stomach and he the urge to scream and to hurt something. Maybe even himself for being this godamn stupid! Of course Bruce knew! Why wouldn’t he?!

“Tim its late and you’re still healing. You need to rest.” Bruce begins and he’s doing that sigh that means he’s tired of the conversation. He doesn’t get to be tired! He doesn’t get to avoid this!

“No!” Tim snaps and it echoes around the cave. Bats screech and flap their wings and the waterfall seems to shake the whole room as it crashes below, unseen but heard. “You knew this whole time and you didn’t tell me?! Don’t you think I had a damn right to know?!”

“Of course you did-“ Bruce says but Tim’s seeing red.

“Then why didn’t you tell me? Don’t say it’s because I needed to find out myself because look how that turned out! Why didn’t you tell me?!” Tim’s pretty sure he’s yelling now. Loud enough for the bats to fly around, screeching all the way.

“Tim you need to calm down or-“

“Or what?! You’ll reveal something else about me that I had every right to know?!” Tim snaps, anger burning like a blaze in his chest. Tim didn’t trust many but he trusted Bruce and look where that got him.

“Or you’ll wake up the others!” Bruce yells back, voice thundering.

Normally Tim would back down. Clamp his mouth shut and look at his feet. Normally he would apologize and get out the way. But nothing is normal now. He’s been lied to be his own father. He’s been lied to by his own parents. The carpet under his feet has been swiped and Tim isn’t getting back up any time soon. Normally Tim wouldn’t scream back. But nothing is normal anymore is it?

“So what?! They’ve been awake and listening to us since I woke up! Or didn’t you see the earpiece connected to the bed!” Tim fights back and Bruce doesn’t flinch and the anger burns brighter, hotter. He knew they were listening. It really was just an excuse to not answer him! “You lied to me! Why is it the only thing you ever do is lie?!”

Bruce’s face closes off and Tim knows this is a losing battles. He clenches his fist to his sides, shoulders shaking as he watches his fathers face devoid of emotion. How dare he?!

“Tim,” he begins and Tim waits. Waits for a reason that actually makes sense and excuses the reason of him never being told by someone he trusted with his life. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you…”

“Damn right you should’ve!” He snaps before shaking his head. He whirls around, feet going numb as he heads to his motorcycle. He needed fresh air. And he needed it now.

Footsteps echo against the walls and a hand grasps onto his shoulder. Tim shoves it off, not wanting the warmth he craved half an hour ago. “Where are you going?”

“Out,” Tim replies, voice cold and drained. He didn’t want to be here anymore.

As he swings his legs on the bike with a quick adjustment of the hospital gown, he sees his family standing before him with varying expression. Bruce is drowning in his self-pity yet his face remains stoic. Tim knows Bruce though; he sees it trough his trembling shoulders and small frown. He sees Jason’s frown, arms crossed tight to his chest. Cass has a hand on his arm, watching Tim with warm and hurt eyes. She looks like she’s about to cry so Tim focuses on Damian and his confused twist of his lips being bitten by sharp teeth. He swallows and shapes his head, pretends he can’t sees Dick expression of pure heartfelt worry and sadness. He sees the shimmering rage burning behind those eyes and he whirls around to face Bruce.

The roar of the engine and the crashing of waves barley covers the rageful scream. It wasn’t directed at him but he stills steps on the gas. He just needed to get out of here. To get out of here and think.

“This is all your fault!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emotions~ Might get another POV next chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy!


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